


Blondes Have More Fun

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Casual Sex, Cock Slut, Come Shot, Comeplay, Consensual Kink, Deepthroating, Dick slapping, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Facials, Humiliation kink, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Power Dynamics, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Slut Derek, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Objectively, Derek gets that it’s just a made up expression—engineered to sell pop songs and touristy t-shirts, and lots and lots of condoms and beers—and yet he’s always found a kernel of truth to the idea that blondes just have more fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blondes Have More Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely the fault of the [new Ryan Kelley photos](http://www.thebacklot.com/exclusive-ryan-kelley-shows-some-skin/07/2014/2/) that have come out recently. I had no control over this whatsoever. :P

Objectively, Derek gets that it’s just a made up expression—engineered to sell pop songs and touristy t-shirts, and lots and lots of condoms and beers—and yet he’s always found a kernel of truth to the idea that blondes just have more fun. Ya, and so it might be true that he doesn’t _honestly_ know that since he’s exclusively dated tawny haired boys and girls since high school, but does he really have to hook up with a brunette or red head to get a justified frame of reference? He knows plenty of them and there’s just not a one that would blow him from the passenger seat of his car a half hour after they met.

This Jake—Jason—Jackson(?) kid, though—the minute Derek smiled at him from across the bar—had clearly decided that there was only one way their night was gonna go. And it went there, fast. No, ‘ _what’s your favorite color?_ ’, _‘oh I really can’t ditch my friends_.’, or ‘ _you’re gonna call me in the morning, right?_ ’. They looked at each other, they liked what they saw, and two shots and one grind on the dance floor later, he was dragging Jackson out to his Camaro, pushing him down into the seat by the top of his head, and whipping out his dick.

The kid was pretty, undeniably pretty—the only problem was that he knew it. There was too much product in his hair— and Derek was pretty sure the majority of the blonde actually in there was bleached, but that wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was the mentality of it and this kid had been slutty enough to get his hair done so he could telegraph that he was buying what Derek was selling with just one cursory look— his watch was too big for his wrist and his sweater had leather cut-outs, but he had pretty eyes and a pink mouth and Derek loved the contrast of the dusky skin of his cock in comparison.

Hooking his thumb in the vee of his jeans, he hiked them low enough to let his balls spill out and sighed in relief, grasping the back of Jackson’s head with his free hand and forcing him far enough down that he could rest them against the douche’s chin. Scoring them was never hard. Derek was not just attractive, he was cocky and had money and best of all: to them? He was that tall, dark, and handsomely rugged guy that they just wanted to spread their legs for. He played into it too—wore dingy tank-tops, went commando, never shaved so the hair on his stomach and chest and legs made his skin seem darker— and wouldn’t you know it, he was uncut too.

They wanted to be face fucked in parking lots, wanted hummers under overpasses, wanted him to cum in their hair and turn away from their kisses. It was just what he liked and just what they were looking for. Just last week he’d found his frat brother cruising the park and just like that—the bleached blonde bitch was shoving his shorts and underwear to his knees in the space of thirty seconds—so cock hungry he was willing to get caught just to get his fix.

And fuck was it good. Sore balls, stinking foreskin, dried cum in your pubes good. Because Parrish was that sweet, charming little Midwest boy that you’d never really suspect it from, and yet aren’t surprised to discover had the inclination. With his doe eyes and his snap back and his cut-off sweats, Derek almost could have believed he was just there by accident, but when that sweet little thing had groped himself with a little more _come hither_ and little less _I haven’t stopped touching my balls since they dropped,_ he’d known it was on.

Derek had smirked and nodded and lifted his shirt to scratch at his stomach and that was all it took. Parrish was turning away and leading him down into a tunnel under a bike bridge without him having to engage in small talk or pay for a shitty, expensive meal or even make a show about searching for a condom in his glove compartment. In fact, by the time he caught up, the other boy’s shorts were already around his ankles and he was just standing there in that ridiculous hat and form-fitting boxer-briefs that were clearly brand new— a glazed look in his eyes.

And since they weren’t bothering with playing coy, Derek didn’t have to bite his bottom lip and duck his head and look up at him through his lashes as he shuffled over. Nope, plain and simple, he lifted his front hem over his head, tucked the bunched fabric under his armpits, and popped the button on his jeans, wrenching open the zipper by pulling on the flap. Because blondes got it, blondes wanted it—wanted _him_ and he was more than happy to provide.

Parrish went to kiss, but Derek turned his head and sucked a bruise right behind his ear—pushing him up against the wall and grinding their hips together. Parrish was ripped and clearly waxed and though that particular combination wasn’t really his thing, it didn’t really fucking matter because he had thick thighs and Derek was roughly turning the boy by his shoulder, pulling out his own cock, and grinding it against his cotton covered ass—leaving a wet trail all down the crack.

Biting at his shoulder blades, pinching at his nipples, groping his pecs, scratching his abs, fisting him through his boxers, it didn’t take long for Parrish to groan and shake and cream himself like he was sixteen years old. Derek reveled in it—reveled in knowing that he wasn’t anywhere close to done and he’s already gotten his boy off so hard the semen was seeping through the fabric’s pores. Without caring that he was probably over sensitive, or that his legs were weak, Derek flipped him back over and then dropped into a squat, nosing at his minimal pubes poking above the waistband, before latching onto the wetspot and sucking like it’s sugar.

With his hands kneading Parrish’s ass and his cock bobbing freely in the wind—no friction to be felt—it didn’t take long to get past the novelty of the musk and horny adolescence that makes a hummer so good, but he gets something he loves out of it as he stands. With another rough shove, he has Parrish’s back against the wall and his head wrenched up, so he can look him in the eye and smirk before he spits his cum onto his mouth and cheeks. Nothing better than giving a blonde a facial and watching their eyes roll back in their heads as their tongues desperately try and gather the mess.

With his hands still holding his head still so Derek can watch him squirm, he coerces the boys thighs together with his own legs and then fucks into the sparsely furred meat, ass clenching in pleasure when his heavy balls slap lewdly against the skin. He breathes hotly against Parrish’s face and bares his teeth, but never meets him for a kiss, never goes to share his mess or suck on his chin. He just watches as he wantonly pleasures himself using the kid’s body as his own fucktoy and gets off on the raw need he sees there.

They aren’t boyfriends, they aren’t fuckbuddies, they aren’t even a one night stand to each other. They’re just a collection of dicks and asses and pretty faces and that’s enough to nut off—to sweat and ache and tremble before blowing their loads and then never seeing each other again. They’re a good time. They’re fun.

When Derek starts to feels himself bowling over the edge, he makes sure to step back far enough to take himself in his own hand as he grits his teeth and jerks his hips and cums all over the outside of those ridiculous black shorts. Without a second thought, and after squeezing every last drop from the folds of his foreskin, he reaches forward and smears it into the fabric—all between Parrish’s legs and into his groin. He’d had to walk home like that—with cum on his breath and wafting from crotch and everyone who passed him by would have known what he came out for that day.

The boy in front of him now? The one who didn’t want to fuck in the bathrooms because they were too dirty, who only ordered from the top shelf, who’s wearing designer jeans _and_ cologne? He wants the same thing, and Derek is here to make sure he gets it. He does so much for other people.

Derek runs his hands through the kid’s hair until it’s relatively soft and pliant again and then wipes the extra product off across his neck and chest, clutching at his throat with one of them when he starts to fuck down inside, watching with intense pleasure when his cock bulges out the skin. Jackson is choking and there’re tears in his eyes, but his hands are fumbling with his belt to get out his crooked little dick, so Derek just keeps pounding into him.

He lets his pants fall down under his ass as he steps on his tip toes to gore the kid on every last inch he can stuff down his windpipe, and feels a perverse sense of glee watching him squeeze his purpling cockhead and shudder in response. When he notices the battered little pork sword starting to spit into Jackson’s hand, he yanks him harshly forward, to the edge of the seat, growling that the stupid slut better not get his sour spunk on the freshly detailed seats. With the harsh movement, he clogged up Jackson’s throat and the kid is dry-heaving, but he doesn’t let up—just grinds as hard as he can until the boy is spraying cum onto the asphalt below them and he’s leaving spare pubes across his pretty face.

Only when that cock keeps twitching, but has come up dry, does he withdraw into Jackson’s mouth—shaft wet and tacky and dripping. Grabbing hold of his head by the ears, Derek punches his hips as he fucks the loose pocket of Jackson’s cheek, riding the slippery flesh until he starts to feel an answering pressure building low in his abdomen. He debates, for a moment, making the kid try and swallow when he cums, but with the way he worked his throat, he’d probably spit it all up, and Derek really doesn’t want to be cleaning that out of the front of his jeans tonight.

So this time he pulls all the way out and strips at his loose skin as fast as he can—fist flying against the spittle and flinging some of it into Jackson’s eyes as he ushers the kid’s mouth open and his tongue out—and then purposely misses—shooting against his chin, his throat, and all in that over-processed hair. He chuckles and smirks as he smoothes it back into those tall spikes with his cum and then makes Jackson lick up the excess from his fingers.

He’s just about to make the exhausted-looking thing suck his dick clean too— smacking it against the outside of his cheeks— when a throat clears behind him and he calmly turns his head and raises a brow at the boy behind them, who clicks his tongue and demures, “I think you got him, dude.” Jackson instantly springs to life as he pushes him aside and flees—trying to pull up his pants as he goes—and Derek mutely wonders if an ass that small would have been better or worse for fucking. Either way, he’s not getting it tonight, but he’s still not exactly sated, so Derek stretches his arms over his head and rolls his shoulders as he turns to face the other boy that’s being so blasé about the whole situation just two cars down.

He’s slim and lanky, but is wearing clubby clothes that cling to his frame and show off the lithe muscle underneath it all. His crop top shows off a pale, freckled, furry belly and Derek practically salivates at the sight—only getting hungrier as he takes in the long throat, the upturned nose, the honeyed eyes…. the dark hair. “Am I supposed to be impressed or something?”

Derek purses his lips, not caring that he sounds like a prick when he thinks to himself, ‘ _of course he’d be a little shit, he’s a brunette’_ , but shrugs it off when he takes another glance down that body and notices that he somehow missed the thick forearms and porno lips. The kid’s worth it—worth everything he has if that impish, fiery gaze says anything. Who knows? It could be fun to have someone challenge him for once. He smirks as he takes a step forward and doesn’t bother to tuck himself away, letting his flaccid, dripping cock sway with his movement. “You’d be lying if you said you weren’t.”

The kid snorts and actually rolls his eyes at him, unlocking his car and turning his back. “Good luck with that, douche canoe.” Derek hesitates—stunned by the effortless and speedy rejection—and it’s a moment too long as the boy starts his engine and backs out of his spot with one, smooth movement. His jeep is powder blue, his license plates had a parking sticker from the local college, and his face is unforgettable. Derek is left in the parking lot—naked and hungry and _wanting._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts are still open over at [my tumblr](http://www.drivenbyadevilshunger.tumblr.com) if you have some kinks you desperately need filled!


End file.
